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The rolling gust of the north wind

Sends itself through the reeds

Bringing with it a platoon of flaming locusts

The bug-eyed marine points his finger at me

And the wretched winds of the west

Bring countless cawing crows

Each of them wont let their spirit grow

The glass-eyed general wraps his beak on my skull

So I cleanse myself of these pressures

The arms of the sun embrace me

I take my rythm to the water

And soak amidst the waves of melody

The engulfing gust of the east

Scatter skinhead beetles armed to the teeth

Their syncopated clacks pierce the air

Their linear vision is clouded by dispair

I meet the lone wolf from the south

Who travels of his own accord

He explores with his third eye open

And values the mind over the sword